How To Get Out of Your Own Way

I've always been a bit of a smart ass. It's gotten me into (and out of) more trouble than I care to admit.

For example, the only time I've ever been punched in the face was in middle school, when I asked the school bully if his herpes had cleared up yet. The teacher laughed. The bully didn't. After class, he waited for me, popped me in the nose, and knocked me flat. He got suspended, and I got two loose front teeth.

You'd think I'd have learned my lesson.

But years later, I was still tripping over the same part of myself. In the corporate world, my humor became a double-edged sword. I made people laugh, but I also made it hard for them to take me seriously. I wanted to be seen as sharp and capable, but my "class clown" energy kept getting in the way.

A manager once told me, "You don't have to stop being funny. Just stop letting it takeover." I nodded. Then, to prove I was listening, I sent an all-staff email from his computer inviting everyone to a "team-building meeting in the bathroom." I know. Believe me, I know.

It took years, and more than a few patient people in my life, for me to find the balance. To learn that sometimes your greatest strength can also be your biggest obstacle. But I bet we all have something that trips us up. Some part of ourselves that gets in the way. A habit, a mindset, a story we keep telling ourselves that no longer serves us. Maybe it's imposter syndrome. Maybe it's perfectionism. Or maybe it's just a part of who we are that we haven't learned to manage yet.

So this week, let's talk about how to get out of your own way—what that really means, why it's so difficult, and how you can start moving forward without tripping over yourself.

The Trouble with Our Own Patterns

We often mistake "who we are" for "how we act."

It's an easy mix-up. You crack jokes in tense meetings, so you're "the funny one." You triple-check your work, so you're "detail-oriented." You heat up leftover fish in the office microwave one time, and now you're a war criminal. That's it. That's your legacy.

But the behaviors that once helped us survive or stand out can quietly hold us back later.

Humor helped me connect. It made me approachable, memorable, likable. It also became my go-to move in every situation, even the ones that required something else. Like credibility. Or vulnerability. Or just shutting the F up and listening. I wasn't being myself. I was being the version of myself that felt the safest.

And I think a lot of us do this. We lean on what worked before, even when the context has changed. Perfectionism kept you from failing in school, so you white-knuckle every project at work. Independence got you through a rough patch, so now you refuse help even when you need it. Confidence landed you the job, so you never admit when you're unsure.

The pattern isn't the problem. The problem is when the pattern starts running you.

Jeffrey Pfeffer, a Stanford organizational behavior professor who's spent decades studying power and influence, calls this "getting out of your own way." In his book 7 Rules of Power, he lists it as Rule 1. Not Rule 3. Not Rule 7. Rule 1 guys! Because according to Pfeffer, most people sabotage their own influence before external obstacles ever do. It's the internal stories, habits, fears, and assumptions that block us first.

If you don't see yourself as worthy, powerful, or capable, other people won't either. Your internal narrative shapes how you show up, and how you show up shapes how others respond. The pattern running you isn't just holding you back. It's telling everyone else who you are before you even open your mouth.

So here's something to sit with: What part of you used to serve a purpose but now gets in your way?

Why Letting Go Feels Like Losing Something

Change isn't just about doing better. It's about letting go of what used to work.

We like to frame growth like it's all upside. Ya know, level up, evolve, become the best version of you. But when you actually try to outgrow an old habit or identity, it doesn't always feel like progress. It feels like loss.

Because that thing you're letting go of helped you. It protected you. It got you through something hard, or made you memorable, or kept you safe. And now you're supposed to just... stop doing it? It can feel like a betrayal.

I remember consciously sitting in a meeting and not cracking a joke. I just sat there. Listened. Spoke only when I had something useful to say. It felt wrong. Like I was being boring. Like I wasn't me anymore. People thought someone had died. And maybe, in some small way, I wasn't me, at least not the version of me I'd been performing for years. It was unsettling for everyone.

But I didn't have to entirely stop being funny. I just had to learn when to use it. When to let it lead, and when to let something else, like curiosity, clarity, stillness, take the front seat. Funny Derek didn't go away. He just stopped being the main attraction.

So if you're struggling to let go of something, maybe it's not because you're stubborn or stuck. Maybe it's because you're mourning. And I think that's okay. You're allowed to miss the old version of yourself, even as you make room for the new one.

How to Step Aside (Without Losing Yourself)

So yeah, how do you actually do it? How do you get out of your own way without feeling like you're abandoning who you are?

I think it starts with awareness. Most of us have "go-to moves", the habits that show up when we're stressed, uncertain, or trying to prove something. Maybe you joke. Over explain. Go quiet. Take control. Deflect. Whatever it is, just notice it. No judgment, just awareness.

Once you’ve spotted your patterns, try this:

• Notice what feels automatic. Catch yourself in the moment and pause before reacting. Ask, is this helping or just familiar?

• Focus on what you actually want. Not what you always do, but what you want to create. Do you want to be heard? Trusted? Connected? Sometimes your default move helps. Sometimes it doesn’t.

• Run small experiments. Respond differently once this week, even if it feels awkward. Stay quiet when you’d normally fill the silence. Ask for help on something you’d usually handle alone. Skip the joke and say the thing you actually mean. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be different.

• Build new evidence. Prove to yourself that a different version of you still works. That you can be serious and still be liked. That you can ask for help and still be capable. That you can change and still be you.

You’re not abandoning yourself. You’re just tweaking how you show up.

In Conclusion

Look, I'm still a smart ass. It's who I am. But I like to think that these days it's a choice, not a reflex. And that’s what getting out of your own way really means; keeping your quirks, but with better control over how and when they show up.

Cause real change doesn’t happen through massive overhauls or life changing moments. It happens more in silence and in reflection. When you pause before the joke, the breath before the defense, the choice to do it differently, even just once.

So if you can catch yourself this week and choose presence over autopilot, that’s a win y’all. That’s progress. Because the goal isn’t to stop being you. It’s to let the whole you have a say, not just the loudest parts. Not just the comfortable defaults.

That’s what getting out of your own way looks like. And if you can manage it, I think you will like the path in front of you.

As always, thanks for reading,
Derek (aka Chief Rabbit)
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